E-Rank or SSS-Rank: I Awakened a Skill That Shouldn't Exist
Chapter 153: The Weight of Responsibility

Chapter 153: The Weight of Responsibility

Chapter 150

The pain Ronan felt wasn’t just physical—it was soul-crushing. As he stood there, gasping for air, blood staining his lips, a harsh truth settled in:

Had he challenged Buster just a few months ago, he wouldn’t have lasted even a minute. He would’ve died—quickly and pathetically.

Back then, Ronan had been a non-Awakener. When he first set out to hunt the Exterminator—Buster—he had nothing but raw swordsmanship and sheer will. If that was all he had now, he’d already be dead.

The only reason he was still standing... was because of them.

The Tryst Guild.

He’d received skills from Han, a system that enhanced his body, floating needles from Clara, twin blades from Nathan. He’d trained and refined his technique with Aiden and Ron. Every single person, every single moment of growth—they had built him up piece by piece.

He’d come far. But even now... it still wasn’t enough.

Not against this monster.

Ronan clenched his jaw, the weight of helplessness pressing down like a boulder. How do you fight someone who feels impossible to defeat?

Then—Han flashed through his mind.

Han, who was around his age but had accomplished what most would call miracles. He’d founded an elite hero guild, transformed a forgotten, low-tier city into a thriving beacon of strength, governed an entire territory, and helped clear nearly every portal outbreak in the northern continent—with the help of his team... and his clones.

Ronan once believed such feats were impossible for someone their age. But Han proved him wrong. So Ronan had studied him—trying to find the secret to his strength.

It wasn’t overwhelming power.

It wasn’t some divine destiny.

It was something much simpler.

Responsibility.

Han carried every burden, every task, every impossible expectation—and never once complained. He saw everything he did as his duty, no matter how heavy it was. And he never ran from it.

Ronan’s grip on his twin swords tightened as he looked at Buster again. This time, his eyes were steadier. Clearer.

"Han always carried his responsibilities... no matter how impossible they seemed," Ronan muttered under his breath.

Now it was his turn.

"I have a responsibility too," Ronan said aloud, his voice calm but resolute. "To make sure you’re erased from the face of this world."

He raised his blades, crossing them in an ’X’ before him.

"And I’ll do just that."

Without hesitation, Ronan charged forward.

Buster narrowed his eyes, surprised. No switch skill? Is he out of energy? Or... is this a trap?

The moment of hesitation cost him.

Ronan’s blade slashed across Buster’s side, drawing blood. It wasn’t deep, but it was the first. Caught off guard, Buster retaliated instantly with a devastating punch—

—but Ronan was already gone.

He’d switched positions with one of his floating needles. Then, in an instant, the air shimmered.

Dozens. No—hundreds of needles now floated around Buster, flickering in and out like ghosts. Their positions shifted rapidly, erratically—each under Ronan’s precise control.

Then came the onslaught.

The battlefield turned into a storm of flashing steel and blurs of light. The needles struck again and again, cutting through Buster’s defenses, carving shallow wounds into his flesh.

Tiny marks of blood began to dot Buster’s body.

At first, it seemed insignificant. But then—one by one—the cuts grew. More appeared. The tide was shifting.

Ronan was hurting him.

For the first time in this entire battle, Buster bled.

And it wasn’t stopping.

He roared and unleashed ten furious punches, each one capable of flattening buildings—but Ronan danced between them, switching places with his needles, dodging at speeds just beyond human comprehension.

A whirlwind of razor-sharp strikes encircled Buster—each attack howling like a storm, forming a violent vortex of steel and speed. Within that chaos stood Buster, his body soaked in blood from countless shallow cuts. The whirlwind didn’t let up. It was relentless, a storm birthed from pure desperation and fury.

Ronan’s mind was screaming, his muscles were fraying, and his vision was dimming—but he didn’t stop.

He couldn’t stop.

Just a little more...

Just one more second...

If I can hold on a bit longer... I can kill him

But then—something shifted.

The resistance... was gone.

Ronan’s instincts flared. Buster had stopped struggling. Anyone else might have assumed his will was broken. But not Buster. No—something was wrong.

Then Ronan felt it.

An overwhelming, crushing pressure.

His heart froze.

It was already too late.

With a roar, Buster raised both fists skyward. A surge of raw, blinding energy erupted around him. Then, with devastating force, he brought his fists down.

The air shattered.

The ground screamed.

A pulse of raw power exploded outward, flattening the battlefield.

Ronan was blasted backward before he could even register what had happened—but Buster was already there, a blur in the storm of debris. Ronan barely turned before—

CRACK!

A brutal fist collided with his face, crushing his nose in an instant. Pain erupted. His vision swam. The force of the blow rattled his entire body. Before he could recover, FWOOOM—his body was hurled across the battlefield, smashing into the earth, forming yet another crater.

But Buster wasn’t done.

Ronan tried to rise, groaning through clenched teeth—but Buster appeared in front of him like a phantom.

BAM!

Another punch drove into his cheek. Bone cracked. Blood sprayed from his mouth. He stumbled—only to receive a devastating follow-up to the gut. This one was worse. Ronan’s ribs screamed in protest. Something inside tore. His body launched backward again, limp and broken.

He lay in a heap, mind fading, vision darkening.

Is this it?

Is this how my story ends?

He had dreamed of this moment—of finally avenging his loved ones. Of putting an end to their killer. But now... now he was going to die by that very same monster’s hand. All that training. All that pain. For nothing.

I was a fool, he thought. No matter what I did... I could never win. It was always impossible.

PAK!

A burning slap jolted him awake.

A voice. Distant. Screaming.

He couldn’t understand it at first. But it was real. Urgent.

His eyes opened, blurred and blood-soaked.

Buster was holding him aloft by the neck, grinning like a madman.

"Well damn," Buster chuckled. "You really are a damn cockroach, aren’t you?"

Then—with a roar—he slammed Ronan into the ground, shaking the earth.

Before Ronan could breathe, Buster yanked him back up by the collar, his wicked grin never fading.

"You know," Buster said casually, "you’re one of the few who’s pushed me this far. I respect that."

Ronan tried to move, but nothing worked. His limbs were lead. His vision doubled.

"You’re chasing revenge, aren’t you?" Buster continued, eyes gleaming. "It’s pointless."

He let out a manic laugh.

"Hundreds have tried. Just like you. All of them driven by rage. All of them screaming about justice or vengeance. You know what happened to them?"

Ronan blinked weakly, barely hanging on.

"They all died. Every. Last. One."

Buster’s grip tightened.

"You’re not enough. None of you are. Not alone. Not in groups. It doesn’t matter. You come for me—you die."

He leaned in closer, voice turning colder.

"You should’ve taken my offer. With your talent, you could’ve become the greatest smasher this world has ever seen."

He shrugged.

"But you chose this way, this path. The path of a martyr."

Buster grinned one last time, raising his fist again.

"And now you’ll die like one."

"Path... way... way..."

The word echoed in Ronan’s mind like a whisper from the void.

It tugged at something... something buried deep. Familiar. Important.

Why does it sting? he wondered. Why does it feel like... a memory?

But before he could grasp it—

BAM!

Buster slammed his mangled body into the ground one more time.

Ronan went limp.

With a grunt, Buster lifted his foot and aimed directly at Ronan’s skull.

This ends now.

He brought it down with all his weight—

CRACK!

But... nothing.

No blood. No shattered bone. No crushed skull.

Buster blinked and looked under his foot.

Gone.

No corpse. No splatter. Nothing.

"...You really are a damn cockroach," he muttered, voice low with disbelief as he slowly turned to his right.

There—several meters away—stood Ronan.

Or rather, what used to be Ronan.

Now he looked like a blood-drenched revenant—barely standing, body trembling, clothes shredded, soaked in crimson. His head was bowed, breath ragged, his entire frame swaying like it would collapse any second.

But his eyes... they burned beneath the blood.

I remember now, Ronan thought. I remember why those words stung.

---

Flashback – Several Years Ago

PAH!

A loud slap cracked across young Ronan’s cheek, snapping his head to the side. He clutched his burning face, eyes wide in disbelief.

His master had never struck him before.

"W-Why...?" he whispered, confused, hurt.

She stood over him, furious—fury unlike anything he’d seen in her before. Her hands trembled. Her eyes burned.

"You’re running," she snapped. "You talk endlessly about vengeance—about justice for your family. But the moment it gets hard, you quit? You’re giving up on your training because it feels impossible?"

Ronan said nothing, stunned.

"If you lose your will to fight," she continued, voice shaking, "you’ll lose your will to grow. And if that happens... you’ll forget your purpose. You’ll never avenge them."

"I won’t forget!" Ronan shouted, eyes tearing up.

"You will—if you give in now," she replied, kneeling beside him. Her expression softened as she placed a hand gently on his head.

"Your will... is your way, Ronan. Don’t ever give up. Keep fighting. Make them proud—your father, your mother, your brothers and sisters... all of them. Live so they can live through you."

Tears streamed down little Ronan’s face. He gritted his teeth and nodded.

"I promise, Master," he whispered. Then louder—"I promise!"

---

Back to the Present

Ronan forced himself up, shaking violently. His legs barely responded. His ribs stabbed him with every breath. But he stood.

Slowly, painfully, he raised his head to face Buster—blood dripping from his mouth, eyes burning with raw defiance.

"I won’t give up..." he rasped. "No matter how impossible it seems. Even if I die here—if I can take you with me... then it’s worth it."

He took a step.

Then another.

Each one felt like dragging the weight of the world.

Buster stared in mild disbelief, then broke into a wide, delighted grin.

This... was going to be fun.

He was going to break this boy’s soul before ending his life.

Ronan stumbled forward again, a fire now blazing in his mind, drowning out the pain.

Kill him. You must kill him.

Even if it costs everything. Even if it’s impossible. He has to die.

Then—

PING!

His system blinked violently to life.

Glitching. Scrambling.

A flood of red error messages filled his vision.

Then...

[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]

Hidden condition met.

Host has fulfilled the prerequisite: Will of the Unbroken.

Seal weakening... 100%

Primary Lock Disengaged.

Ability of the Steele: UNSEALED.

> Skill Unlocked: [USURPER]

Rank: ??? (Undefined)

Status: ACTIVE

Effect: Enemy’s power is being forcibly assimilated...

Target — Buster: Power absorption complete.

Buster’s power has been added to your own.

To be continued...

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